Voices
by The-Stupidest-Author-Ever
Summary: Juhani Otso Berg knew he sold his soul to the Devil when joining the Templar Order. But for now, he is expected to put his services to good use. When tracking Desmond Miles, Otso Berg investigates a penthouse in New York, only to find more than he bargained for.


**Hi, everyone! I wanted to try a modern day setting to change from my other fanfictions, and I decided to go with this one. A short one-shot based on Otso Berg, so if you don't like him, don't read. Let me know what you think and leave a review! Enioy!**

 **FYI: This occurs BEFORE Berg becomes a member of the Inner Sanctum/Master Templar. So he's going to be ignorant on a couple things.**

 **Disclaimer: everything belongs to Ubisoft**

 **Warning: yeah, not much, just a couple swears and guys fighting**

* * *

The streets of New York City echoed with life, despite it was nearly one o'clock in the morning. Not surprising, considering it was the city that never slept. Skyscrapers filled the landscape for as far as the eye could see, shining brilliantly with fluorescent lights until they disappeared into the darkness above. It was barely recognized as night with the brightness, which exposed the lingering haze of the city's pollution. Somehow traffic still filled the streets, occasionally an impatient driver rudely blaring a horn, even though it was nothing like it was in the day. Individuals lingered on the sidewalks, either drunks or unfortunate or workaholics or those who preferred the nightlife. One individual wasn't any of these.

Juhani Otso Berg briskly walked down a sidewalk, ignoring a bum mumbling next to a pile of garbage and the couple cars racing down the somehow empty street. He kept his hands in his pocket and gaze lowered, making an effort to stay unnoticed but to get to his destination quickly.

Laetitia England called him for a mission. A cyber-security breach detailing an artifact. She wanted the Templar to investigate it. Of course England refused to inform him what the "artifact" was, or even give details of the incident. She only gave him a location with a mission. However, apparently the woman didn't realize by the time the breach was investigated, the perpetrator could be long gone, if they came at all.

Berg wanted to roll his eyes. Leave to Laetitia to send on him on a useless assignment. He had a feeling this was a punishment for an argument they had they last time they spoke, or maybe it was simply for her amusement. They never saw eye-to-eye, and their "relationship" wasn't even that long. If it could even be called a relationship. Still, Juhani didn't exclude the theory this was her own way for the Templar to earn his stripes. He was still learning just how vast the Order was, and apparently he heard a rumor he had attracted eyes within the Inner Sanctum. However, he was never one to listen to rumors. Nonetheless, orders were orders.

Berg glanced up to see his destination ahead. An office building belonging to Abstergo Industries. There was nothing there important, as far as Juhani knew. Just another guise of the Templars' true colors. There was even the fluorescent sign of the company's emblem glowing ominously on the building, right above the main door.

As the man neared the front door, he felt his muscles tensing. Memories of his days serving the Utti Jeager came back to him, steeling his nerves. The pistol clipped to his belt felt heavy. If the threat was legitimate, there was no way to know what was waiting for him. Suddenly the echoing sounds of nightlife were silent, and Juhani noticed the street was barren. His skin crawled from an unknown instinct, even given to him by his Animi training or some ancestral reflex. Either way, he understood its meaning. Something was wrong.

The doors of main entrance slid open when Berg input his security access from his phone. One courtesy of Laetitia. Despite the late hour, the lobby was fully illuminated, filled with various furniture and reception desks. Though there was not a soul. Not. A single. One. Juhani narrowed his eyes at the security reception. There should be a guard posted.

The Templar wondered to continue on with his mission or investigate the anomaly. Well, the building was God-knows-how-many-floors. He couldn't exactly scour every room. Plus he had to consolidate with the building's security to make sure this wasn't just a goose chase. Or some absurd prank pulled by a bored England.

With that, Berg made his way to the door behind the desk. "Security" was printed on the non-see-through window, confirming it was the offices meant for overseeing the building. It annoyed the ex-special forces soldier that he couldn't see the other side. Seriously, what was the point of a window if you couldn't see through it? Nonetheless, the man extended his hand to turn the handle. Only he never had the chance.

Suddenly the door burst open, nearly slamming into him. It was only because of the ex-soldier's supreme reflex he was able to jump out of the way. In the door's place was a figure a head shorter than Otso Berg and easily half his weight. The person wore skinny dark blue jeans and a white jacket wrapped around his torso. Make that, a _hooded_ white jacket.

Under the shadow of the hood, Juhani saw alarm lit up in the male's dark eyes. All the Templar could tell that he had tanned skin, a pale scar on his upper lip. Wait. Berg had seen this face before, in Abstergo's files.

Desmond Miles.

Meanwhile the Assassin realized that the stranger was no friend. Without warning, the young man shot away like a dart, making a break for the entrance. Like a predator, Berg lunged for him, hand extended to snatch the fugitive. But Miles was _fast_.

The Templar snarled as the fabric of the Assassin's hood slipped from his fingers and Miles leaped through the doors. Juhani didn't hesitate to race after him, tearing his gun from its holster. He stepped outside just in time to hear the roaring of a car engine and a screech of tires. A white van skidded to a halt in the middle of the street. Before the vehicle properly stopped, the side door opened to reveal a blonde-haired man and a woman. Both extended their arms to Miles as the Assassin dived into the safety of the getaway car. Immediately Berg took aim and fired.

A high-pitched scream came from the van and the door snapped close, bullets ricocheting off the metal. The vehicle took off with another roar, wheels squealing on the pavement. Berg stormed after it, firing as quickly as the gun allowed. However, the claps of thunder were replaced by infuriating _clicks._ The pistol was empty.

Juhani swore loudly in Finnish as he tossed the useless weapon to the ground, watching as the van squealed out of sight. Gone. Just like that. Berg grinded his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. He had been mere inches from his target he had been tracking for _weeks_ , and the runaway literally slipped from his grasp. The Templar knew he couldn't call for backup and except them to find the team of Assassins. Vans like that were dime a dozen, and the Assassins wouldn't hesitate to flee to the nearest hideout. The only good news was that the threat was legitimate, and Miles was in New York.

Still, Berg gave a final frustrated snort as he plucked up his pistol and stormed back inside, reloading his weapon. Well, he was here now. Might as well investigate what Miles was up to. Might give a clue where the fox was hiding. The Templar returned to the security offices, only to find the only two guards on duty were unconscious and stuffed in a broom closet. Juhani left them. They wouldn't be any help, anyway.

The Templar strolled away, only to notice something in his peripheral vision. The man glanced over to see a monitor showing a blueprint of the building. However, the screen was flashing, highlighting the top room of the offices. A security breach in the penthouse. That saved Juhani a lot of time.

Deciding there was no longer a threat and not eager to walk up God-knows-how-many-floors, the man pressed the button hailing the elevator. The metal doors slid open with a _ding_ and he stepped inside. The second the doors closed, _awful_ elevator music filled the air. Juhani cringed. It wasn't even classical or pop, just an annoying jingle. It ruined the atmosphere while he was on a serious assignment and grated his nerves. The ex-soldier forced himself to tune out the music as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

Maybe he could return to Helsinki once this assignment was over. Elina would be getting worried about him. She was even half-sobbing as she begged him to come home the last he called her.

"Just a little longer," he had promised.

Of course that didn't reassure the three-year-old and he got an earful from her babysitter. Humph, he wasn't paying the woman by the hour (which was quite a generous amount) just so she could tell _him_ what to do. Still, ever since Vidic decided to task him with tracking Miles, Juhani had been traveling everywhere except his home of Finland.

The man was well aware just how close to a non-existent father he was, if he wasn't already one. His last words to Helmi was promising to protect their daughter, just before her ailing body failed her and the only love of his life left him forever. Berg's heart had been cold ever since. The only flicker of flame he had left was Elina. _Everything_ he did was for her.

Bloody hell, he had practically sold his soul to the devil in order to save her. Sometimes Juhani still had trouble with it. Years of debt trying to keep up with Elina's cystic fibrosis, even leaving the Utti Jeager he was so desperate, and all his problems wiped away on a single night. _That_ night. And Elina was cured. _Cured_. It made the man wonder what else Abstergo had in their capability.

The Templar was interrupted from his thoughts as another ring filled the air, signaling the elevator's arrival at the penthouse. He pushed off the wall as the doors slipped open. The top floor was the opposite from its lobby—darkness cloaked the entire room. Furniture melted perfectly into the shadows, making it somewhat difficult for Berg to weave around them.

The penthouse looked like the top-priced suite of a hotel, only difference was that it was an office building instead of such. It was for the boss that literally slept at his workplace. At first Juhani "saw" nothing out of the ordinary, until he heard a noise from the other side of the apartment. A harsh voice was quickly to follow.

Automatically the former mercenary pulled out his weapon and slowed into a stalk, crouching. He followed the source, eyes sharp for something that wasn't a trick of the shadows. Juhani quickly translated the sounds as smashing of glass and impact of heavy objects, accompanied by curses that weren't English. Russian…?

The Templar pressed his back against the wall and peeked around the corner into the next room. He saw a figure writhing in the darkness, snarling. Nerves sharpened, Berg raised his pistol and took a careful, silent step into the room. Then the figure charged.

Juhani wheezed as it rammed into him like a raging bull, throwing him to the ground. He felt something _heavy_ on top of him, pinning him down. Still, the ex-soldier was able to notice a butt of a pistol flying towards his head, but thankfully only one of his arms was pinned. Using his free arm, he blocked the strike, not even noticing the pain of impact. He learned to block out pain a long time ago. Snarling, the man then wrenched his trapped arm free, allowing him to land a brutal punch to the person's face. There was a cry of pain and the weight disappeared.

Immediately Berg leaped to his feet, snatching his fallen gun and pointing it towards his attacker. Who he saw wasn't what he was expecting.

"Cross?"

Daniel Cross. Vidic's favorite. An Assassin that rose through the ranks to gain the attention of the Mentor, only to betray the Brotherhood and convert to a Templar. Personally causing the Great Purge. The man was supposed to be in Philadelphia. What was he doing here?

The fellow Templar was on all fours, growling like a bear. Cross was dressed in a leather brown jacket over a gray and yellow hoodie with black cargo pants, swallowed by tall boots. His dirty blonde hair was in disarray and his clear blue eyes glinted in the darkness. The two men stared at each other for several silent moments. Then Berg noticed something. Cross's eyes were glazed.

The Master Templar mumbled something. Juhani narrowed his eyes in confusion, not catching it. The Finnish man stepped back as Cross suddenly climbed to his feet. His felt his skin crawl as those glazed eyes glared at him. Cross snarled a statement in Russian. Berg only stared, not understanding. The ex-Assassin's eyes narrowed to slits and he repeated his statement, this time harsher.

When Juhani once again didn't respond, Cross shifted his weight like a predator getting ready to pounce, hissing like a rabid animal. Berg only had half-a-second to brace before the unstable man lunged, roaring.

Cross swung a violent punch at Berg's head, only for the ex-mercenary to duck at the last second. He stepped away, only for his opponent to follow him. The ex-Assassin swung another strike, only for Juhani to catch his wrist. The ex-soldier quickly twisted it behind Cross's back. The man roared in pain, but was far from quitting. Berg's vision flashed as pain exploded in his skull, making him yell and reel backwards, clutching his head.

Before he could recover from the headbutt, Cross tackled into his stomach, driving him into the wall. The air was ripped from his lungs and pain pounded in his head, but he would not so easily be defeated. With a growl, Juhani shoved Cross away with all his strength. The man only moved a couple feet. The ex-mercenary slammed his heel onto Cross's shin. The leg crippled and along with the person. Not hesitating, Berg struck his assaulter's chin with his elbow, forcing Cross back. He followed it up with a brutal blow to the face.

Cross fell onto the ground, gasping and stunned. Juhani rounded him as the victim forced himself to his knees, but was careful to keep his distance.

"Come to your senses yet?" the Templar spat.

Cross retorted in Russian. In a blink of an eye, he was back on his feet and charging towards Berg. Instead of a fist, the ex-Assassin's hand was extended… like he was using a hidden blade.

It gave Berg the perfect opportunity. Using both hands, he snatched Cross's limb and stepped behind the man, all the while twisting the arm until there was a loud _crack_. Cross howled in pain. Juhani decided to put him out of his misery by wrapping his arm around the Master Templar's throat, applying pressure. Immediately the captive choked in protest, snatching the ex-soldier's arm with both hands. Berg then wrapped his leg around Cross's, keeping him stationary. The Master Templar desperately tried to escape, obviously captured by some instinct not to surrender, but failed to realize he was trapped. Berg only responded to his flails by applying more pressure.

His military training screamed for him to twist his captive's neck and neutralize the threat, but Juhani ignored it. It only took a matter of seconds for Cross's violent movements to become sluggish and his ragged seething to slow. Without warning, the man's body went limp and his breathing turned even. Berg didn't hesitate to release his chokehold, having Cross's body crumble to the floor in a heap of twisted limbs. Juhani didn't bother to break his fall.

With a half-sigh, half-groan noise, the man reached down and grabbed the Master Templar's hood. Cross may have been unconscious, but there was no guarantee that he would stay that way… and wake up in another fit. Berg dragged him to the nearest desk.

Improvising, the ex-mercenary unbuckled the ex-Assassin's belt and pulled it off. He then took Cross's wrists and wrapped the leather around his arms and a leg of the desk. He re-buckled the belt, making a makeshift restraint on his prisoner. It left Cross in an awkward position: his arms were pinned above him with his head slumped between his shoulder and chest, the rest of his body sprawled across the floor. His neck would be sore when he wakes up.

But now assured Cross wouldn't jump up and attack him again, Berg rose, hissing as he gripped his head. He tried to will the pounding in his skull to subside, only for it to worsen like someone was hammering on his brain. He didn't feel nauseous, but the man had a suspicion it was part of a minor concussion. Instead of sitting still, like he should be, Berg investigated the penthouse further, mostly entering the room Cross emerged from.

Not surprisingly, the room was completely trashed: cabinets meant to hold files were knocked over, contents spilling across the floor. A window owned a sizeable web of cracks with a broken chair underneath it. A painting had fallen onto the floor; the one next to it was skewed. The only thing untouched was a large desk by the window. It was mostly bare, save for a glass case on top. Or _was_ a glass case.

The sides of the box were still intact, but the lid was completely shattered, having countless pieces strewn over the desk and even the floor. Berg didn't have to be here before Cross's rampage to know it once held something. The man pulled out his cell phone a dialed a number. He only had to wait a few minutes.

"Abstergo Industries Customer Service, how can I help you?" a female voice answered, monotone voice signaling her boredom of reciting script.

"Juhani Otso Berg," the Templar replied instead. "Service number OP114-8506-B. Abstergo Operations field agent. I want a direct line to Laetitia England, Director of Operations."

"As you wish, Mr. Berg. Transferring now."

There were several moments of silence, which was deafening in the still penthouse.

"Berg, good to hear you," Laetitia answered, purring voice casual and Juhani _swore_ he heard mocking disdain. "You have my artifact?"

Otso Berg had already connected the dots. "Miles took it." The woman cursed on the other end. She made a noise to make an order, but Berg interrupted her. "Master Cross is here."

" _Daniel_ Cross? What the hell is he doing there?"

"You tell me. He was disoriented and speaking in Russian. He confused me for a threat and attacked me."

Another curse. Berg knew she had come to same, obvious conclusion as him. The Bleeding Effect. The fascinating, _terrifying_ side-effect of overexposure to the Animus. To remember _more_ of your ancestor's memories than you were shown. Berg had heard plenty of stories of Cross's fits from it. The man waited several long moments as Laetitia pondered the situation.

"Get Cross, take him to the closest Abstergo facility," she decided.

"I _am_ in an Abstergo facility," Berg countered.

"You know what I—just take him to Philadelphia!"

"And Desmond Miles?"

There was a throaty sigh. "We know he's in the area somewhere. Let the local cell handle it."

"Tracking Miles was _my_ mission."

"That was until Cross went renegade. Get his ass back here—then we'll discuss what to do with you."

Otso Berg wasn't done yet. "Care to tell me what so special about these artifacts?"

"We'll discuss that, too."

Apparently Laetitia _was_ done with the conversation, because she hung up and the line went dead. Juhani grumbled under his breath and he stuck the phone back in his pocket. Philadelphia was only a couple hour drive away, but he had no desire to drag his _least_ favorite person all the over there, especially one that was a ticking time bomb. Berg sighed. Orders were orders.

He sauntered back into the main room where he left Cross, only for the fallen Templar to moan. In reflex, the ex-soldier reached for his weapon, only to pause as Cross shifted and moaned again. The ex-Assassin opened his eyes, and in the darkness, Berg honestly couldn't tell if they were glazed or not. The Master Templar whispered something, and Juhani had to strain his hearing to realize he was speaking English, not Russian.

"It wasn't me," Cross slurred. "It wasn't me. I-I don't want this. I never wanted this. The voices… The voices… They won't go away."

The voices. Berg remembered. The ghosts that haunted the ex-Assassin's mind every waking moment. Juhani wondered if Cross knew he was there, or if he even cared. Suddenly the Master Templar winced, like he was struck.

"Screaming… Screaming… _Begging_ to be released. I don't know how to do it. What do they want? What do they _want_? Why can't they leave me alone? Why won't they be _silent_?"

"Only death can give you relief," Berg muttered, not sympathetic. It was the truth: there was no way to reverse the Bleeding Effect, especially a case so severe.

Cross shivered and he made a noise that almost sounded like a sob. "Why? Why me? All I wanted was for them to _accept_ me! But… _they_ screwed everything up!"

Juhani knew the subject of "they" changed between sentences, but he honestly didn't know which subject was what. He _did_ know Cross was about to have a mental breakdown, and the Finnish man wasn't the one to deal with it. Still, he couldn't imagine what it was like, to hear and see things that weren't yours. He was amazed Cross lasted this long, and accomplished the things he did. The junior Templar disliked his superior—that was a fact—but he couldn't help having grudging respect.

"I don't like you, Cross," Berg growled. "But that I won't be blind to the fact you're an extraordinary Templar. You ushered a new era for our Order. Regardless of what you think, only you can decide your future, no one else. Not even your… condition."

Cross blinked blankly, making difficult to tell if he was listening or not. Juhani only snorted. He dragged this out long enough.

"Though I will make an exception to this. You're coming back to Philadelphia with me. Fight me or try anything, I will kill you, my superior or not."

Cross only closed his eyes and slipped back into unconscious, as if that was his way of submitting. Which was fine by Berg—tonight proved the man was much better to deal with asleep than awake. The Templar untied his prisoner and hefted Cross over his shoulders in a fireman's carry, groaning with effort. Cross was _not_ light by any means.

Berg tried to stop it, but couldn't help it. His mind wandered. He remembered his final days in the Animi Training program. He had fought Daniel Cross back then, quickly proving himself the victor. Instead of being furious, Cross had laughed. An instinct made Juhani's skin crawl as he remembered his words tonight were an echo of what he said. That Cross would always be haunted by voices of the past, and he apparently thought Berg suffered the same fate as him.

 _"_ _The voices in_ your _head… they will never go away…"_

Juhani snorted as he dumped Cross into the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby floor. Cross was disturbed, nothing more. Berg was the master of his _own_ fate. It was _his_ choice to join the Templar Order and _his_ choice to declare the Assassins as his enemy.

 _"_ _In their glorious New World Order, there won't be any room for broken toys like us!"_

Juhani shook his head. He wasn't a "broken toy." Nor was he a fool. From the moment he joined the Utti Jeager, death had been his companion. As a Master Templar, it was closer than ever. His scarred face, left from the disaster in Florence, was a constant reminder of that. And one day, Death will catch up to him in their race. He was the Order's humble servant, and he would pay the price for it.

 _"_ _You're not even a person anymore! You're a tool, a weapon, a plaything!"_

Berg pulled out of his trance to hear the elevator's annoying jingle, taunting him and playing his mind.

 _"_ _There won't be any room for broken toys!"_ it sang.

Fuck it.

Otso Berg pulled out his pistol and shot the speaker.


End file.
